


who can do it like me? ( nobody, baby )

by dormant_bender



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Claiming, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Game(s), Public Hand Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 21:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6537361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormant_bender/pseuds/dormant_bender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jealousy is an ugly trait.</p><p>But Rafinha doesn't mind, not when it works in his favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	who can do it like me? ( nobody, baby )

**Author's Note:**

> So. More smut?
> 
> What even.

2 | 1.

That was the score.

Everyone is enthralled with the results but the blond is too busy seeking out one brunet in particular who is probably receiving the most attention out of the group. Eyes the color of oceans stare ahead at the sight of Neymar pecking his 'princesa' all over his face, ultimately yanking him into a hug, while another one of the team glomps the male.

Boot-clad feet halt midway, and he instead shifts on his heel to congratulate Suarez, who is off in the corner talking in hushed murmurs to Messi. He groans at that and decidedly abandons all those ideas in favor of gathering his things and heading out towards the van that was undoubtedly outside waiting for them.

There are multiple smiles directed his way and he returns them out of politeness, even though he's slightly peeved—more so by Neymar and his ardent affections, less by the fact he had allotted a goal that evening. It's been about thirty-minutes more or less since the game had ended and, despite the satisfaction of the win, he just finds himself desperate to return to the hotel to get some much-needed quiet. 

Of course when he gets on the bus he's the only one there, which he's grateful for, it just allowed him to choose a seat in the very back of the bus where there were only two seats present by the bathroom. Probably not the most desirable of seats, but what could he say? Jealousy was an ugly trait.

He fumbles for the earphones within his bag and slides them onto his ears on a suitable volume, his lids fluttering to a content close, the playlist going from song to song while the rest of the team slowly but surely loaded onto the bus. Eventually he feels an arm nudge against his on the armrest and he's cracking open an eye to see a grinning Rafinha.

Marc reluctantly slides the earphones off once more, pausing to check the time on his phone, then releases a soft sigh. It's a little past six already. The hotel was only a decent twenty-minutes away though, so at least he could retreat to his bedroom and forget the day.

"Where were you, Ter? I was looking for you after the game, keyword: was. Neymar and Dani were almost as happy as I was to be out on the field again. Can you believe it? After all this time I'm finally back and, just—It feels so good. There's no me without football, y'know? And I—hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good, yeah. I was looking for you too, but I figured you were busy getting kisses and stuff. Not a big deal or anything." Cue the strained smile that is forced upon thin lips. "You did amazing today and seeing you out there again was probably my favorite part of the whole game, not even the goals could compare to seeing you look so happy."

But Rafinha senses something is off and his shoulders hunch forward, a small frown forming upon his lips. "You don't seem happy for me.. Something's up and I know it, you might as well tell me. We have, what? Fifteen minutes till we're at the hotel, I'll just annoy you until then, and I'll even sneak into your room too. If I have to. So you should probably just tell me," then an amused smile replaces the frown and he slides the pads of fingers along the blond's arm that still occupies the armrest, twinning their fingers tightly together.

"You have no idea how happy I was—am, still am. It's just—.. I wanted to be the first one to tell you, I guess? Nothing serious, I promise you." 

"That seems true," hums the Brazilian inquisitively before his eyebrows pull together quizzically: "but that's not the whole truth, is it?"

Eventually the blond groans aloud, he knew he was screwed and would have to explain it, even though he would rather not admit to it. "Look: I should be used to Neymar kissing you and touching you and whatever else he does when I'm not around, it's just—We don't even do that in public, not really in front of the guys either."

"So.. You're saying you're jealous of Ney..?" There's a moment of thoughtful silence before the brunet's posture relaxes visibly. "That's not a big deal, you know how he is. He's just my best friend. That's actually not much of an excuse, but you know how I feel about you. Ney is just like my annoying big brother, more annoying than Thi, if that's even possible."

Marc remains silent for another moment, fingers lacing and un-lacing with the Brazilian, before releasing a soft sigh. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just want to be the one that kisses you, the only one that gets to kiss you." And the blond is grateful for the time change, the sun already darkening outside of the windows. He leans forward and presses a kiss to the latter's cheek, trailing his lips across his skin to his ear, tugging at the lobe. "You might have missed the memo, but you're mine, Rafa."

Rafinha gulps and shivers within his seat at the administrations, hesitantly tilting his head away from the male. "I know, s-shut up." He swats at Marc but the blond only frowns in disapproval at that, "Don't look at me like that." The Brazilian's voice is barely above a whisper as he hisses at the German, glancing around the bus for any sign of eavesdroppers. "The guys could see or something."

"You don't mind it when Neymar does it," murmurs the blond defensively with a soft huff as he resorts to toying with the earphones strapped around his neck. 

"Are we really still talking about that?" 

Pale fingers abandon the hand they're twinned with in favor of resting upon the latter's upper thigh, offering it a soft squeeze, to which the brunet squeaks at. "Does he touch you like this when I'm not around?"

Rafinha releases a shuddering breath at the action and frantically shakes his head, "No. Why would you even think that?" But the hand glides further up his thigh to brush along his lap.

"What about here?"

"You know he doesn't, and I wouldn't want him to. Just you, Marquinho." Rafinha responds as he shifts his hips upwards into the warm heat that cups him through the fabric of his track pants.

"You've never thought about him like this?"

Rafinha can feel rather than see the armrest shift upwards so there is nothing in between them, then can feel the familiar warmth of lips pressing insistently against his neck. "Only once, I swear." The lips on his neck only stutter once, teeth sinking into his neck, nipping harshly at the skin there. "Fuck, Marc.."

But Marc is even more put-off by that tidbit and instead works his hand into the looseness of his pants, fingering at the hem of his tiny briefs. "Yeah? You better mean that," rasps the blond who palms him through the material of his briefs, brushing his thumb along the head. He can practically feel the swell of his cock and he groans at that, peppering open-mouthed kisses against the column of his neck.

"We're gonna get caught," breathes the Brazilian as he spreads his legs further apart to better accommodate the hand that works at his cock. "Marc, we can wait.. The hotel... We can wait.."

"I can't, Rafa. Seeing you out there after so long—it's so sexy seeing you run around like that, all hot and sweaty.." Marc murmurs defensively as he squeezes him through the fabric, once more brushing his thumb over the head, feeling the faint dampness forming there. 

Anymore words or complaints die on those pretty, plump lips when the blond finally inches his hand beneath the band of his briefs. A soft whine emanates from his mouth and his head falls back against the headrest, eyes clenched tightly, fingers gripping at the bottom of the seat for purchase. 

He attempts to remain silent as the hand strokes him up and down, though its less than fluid due to the restraints of his pants and briefs. Eventually he remedies that by tugging his pants down to mid-thigh, repeating the actions with his briefs until they're tucked just below his balls. A relieving sigh echoes from his lips at the freedom, and he barely thinks about the possibility of being caught, not with the way the hand squeezes him upon the upstroke, only loosening on the down stroke. 

Marc curses silently and the hand is gone for a moment, "Hold on.. Wait.." Comes his hiss as he ruffles through his bag in search of one of his old hoodies, draping it neatly across Rafinha's lap. "Gotta be safe."

"Y-yeah.."

It's weak and more like a croak and—yeah, it's sort of pathetic, but Rafinha can't help it. Once more the hand is stroking his cock, his hips moving to shift in-time with his administrations. One of his russet hands slips beneath his hoodie in favor of pinching and teasing his nipples, his mouth slightly open and releasing tiny gasps.

"Neymar could never please you like this," Marc murmurs against his ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth, pulling it for a moment before releasing it. "Could he?" Rafinha only whimpers in response. "He can't make you feel as good as I do."

"Never.. Only you.." Rafinha chokes on a gasp then and is maneuvering his idle hand to bite at his fingers in an attempt to silence himself.

Marc uses his free hand to dampen with saliva to slip beneath the hoodie, using that hand to glide more fluidly along the length of his cock. He uses both hands in tandem, one stroking upwards, while the other strokes downwards. Both alternate between tightening in grip and loosening, though he quickly abandons the idea to trail one downwards to stroke and cup his balls.

Once more the brunet makes a noise, albeit muffled by the hand at his mouth, as the blond fondles his balls and kneads them together within his warm palm. Marc returns to kissing his neck then, making his way towards his mouth, which he claims to eagerly nip at his lower lip for entrance. He's obliged a second later and the latter's mouth is warm and hot and open for him to explore, teeth clashing, and tongues battling for dominance.

Marc twists his wrist then, tightening his grip upon Rafinha's cock, the brunet mewling into the blond's mouth. His hips buck into the fist that his hand makes, rolling them erratically; his high was coming, the blond was aware, so he continues with his administrations in an attempt to override his senses.

The hand at his balls squeezes them tightly, along with the hand at his cock, and it's enough to leave the brunet trembling within his seat. He grunts against the latter's mouth and thrusts sporadically against his hand, barely able to keep up with the fervent kiss, biting down harshly onto Marc's bottom lip as he releases into his hand and onto the darkness of his hoodie.

Marc kisses him through his orgasm, lips never slacking once as he sucks upon the lower and then nips at the upper. Rafinha makes a noise at the back of his throat, his hands gripping unbearably tight at the bottom of his seat, lips going slack against the other's. A soft sob comes from the brunet as he blindly reaches for Marc—arms, jeans, hair, whatever he could reach.

But Marc doesn't relent—why would he?—as he strokes him through his high, slowing the movements of his hand upon his sensitive cock that twitches within his gentle grip. He reluctantly withdraws from the kiss, a trail of saliva connecting their mouths, in an act of kindness; the latter was panting when he was finally released and lolls his head back against Marc's awaiting shoulder, hips still twitching faintly.

Marc swears that he can hear another soft cry echo from the seat in front of him, but he's too focused on Rafinha to particularly care. He retrieves his hand once the brunet is properly spent and licks at the cloudy substance staining his palm, humming as he does so, then leans back against the seat like nothing had occurred.

Rafinha presses lazily kisses to the side of his neck, nuzzling his nose into the smooth skin. "I love it when you're jealous.." 

"Don't do it again," Marc murmurs smugly into the darkness as he allows his chin to rest on the brunet's head, one of his hands sliding beneath the hoodie to pat his bare thigh. "And cover up while you're at it."

"Good idea, Marquinho.."

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just say Ney was aware of what he was doing, so he sat directly in front of them, and..
> 
> Well, you know what he did. ;)


End file.
